


Conduct Unbecoming

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did Spock go to Gol?  There are a million theories, this is just one of mine.  Did Jim push Spock too far or was Spock as weak and flawed as he always suspected?  There is a lot of angst, arguable non-com, suicide attempt and unremitting pain.  Not for the faint of heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conduct Unbecoming

Conduct Unbecoming

McCoy stood at the foot of the bio bed, his left arm held protectively against his chest, the fingers of his right hand curled against his mouth. He looked worried and pensive. His patient was moving restlessly, sweat darkening his hair, his expression tense.

It was believed that Spock had ingested or inhaled a toxin on Lica. The Licons professed no knowledge of his condition and denied exposing him or anyone else on the away team to any drug. No one else displayed any symptoms but they weren’t Vulcan, so perhaps the Licons were being truthful. 

McCoy had isolated the toxin within minutes of Spock transporting up from the planet, comatose. From what he could determine from the med-scans, the toxin was unlikely to have originated on Lica. Its source was undetermined and chemically highly complicated. And it was deadly to Vulcans. Due to Spock’s hybrid nature, it wasn’t fatal, though it was a near thing. Spock was clearing the drug on his own, but it would probably be days before it was finally through his system.

His response was strange. Spock seemed to be delirious at times, caught in a nightmare. McCoy imagined Vulcans dreamed even though medical research was silent on the subject. He hated to ascribe human responses to Spock, who’s physiology was mostly Vulcan, but without understanding how and why the toxin was affecting him this way, he had little choice.

McCoy turned to leave and report to a worried Captain waiting outside the isolation ward, when he heard Spock speak.

“No! Do not. Please. No!” Spock’s voice was gravel, his eyes tightly closed.

McCoy moved to stand beside the bed, noting no change in vitals. He reached instinctively for Spock’s shoulder and stopped himself just in time from making contact.

“Spock! What is it? What do you need?”

“Tell him. No. No more. Must stop. I cannot. I must not.”

“Tell who? Who needs to stop?”

“Jim . . . No.”

Spock lapsed into silence, leaving McCoy feeling confused and sick. He wasn’t sure what Spock was referring to but he had an idea. He’d had an idea for some time.

McCoy had known for some months that Jim and Spock were lovers. Neither one of them had said anything; they had never acted inappropriately around each other. But Jim’s eyes warmed when Spock entered the room, his body language changing when they spoke, as though they were alone in the room. Spock was harder to read, of course. He stood closer to Jim than he should, he allowed Jim’s causal touch on the shoulder or arm without withdrawing, and he watched Jim carefully and with great attention.

There had been physical changes as well. Jim frequently had bruises on his arms and legs, which he laughingly excused by saying he was clumsy and should be more careful when sparing. There had been other injuries, which Jim had attributed to shore leave. McCoy didn’t judge his Captain but it had raised some questions.

Spock had lost weight recently. He had always been scrupulously clean but now seemed obsessive about it. McCoy had treated him recently for intestinal problems as well; too much stress and not enough food or bacteria in his GI tract. He seemed easily irritated, though that in and of itself was nothing new. 

McCoy watched Spock’s restless slumber for a few minutes, finally concluding he wasn’t in any more distress. He didn’t want to have the conversation with Jim. If it went the way he suspected, he could destroy two lives, two careers. 

 

Two months ago.

Jim tipped his king with a rueful smile. Spock raised a good-humored eyebrow and with a nod, placed both hands on the table to rise. Jim reached across and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay.”

Spock stared at the table top, frowning. “It would be illogical to do so as you require rest before your next shift.”

“Stay.” 

Spock knew if he looked up, he would see his Captain’s warm hazel eyes sharpen; his nose flare and his lips thin in an almost predatory smile. He didn’t dare look up and meet his gaze.

“Spock.”

Spock closed his eyes. He couldn’t say no to his Captain. He’d tried before and failed utterly. 

Jim took Spock’s hand in his and rubbed his thumb over the back of long fingers. Spock looked up a bit desperately. That was a mistake. Jim’s face was naked with emotion. He wanted Spock very badly and would do whatever was necessary to have him.

“Jim. Please.”

Jim stood, taking Spock’s hand. Spock rose as well, brown eyes clouding. Jim smiled and brought his fingers to his mouth, kissing each one, finally pressing his lips to the palm, eyes closing.

Spock might have made a sound then, lost now in desire, flames licking the hand still imprisoned by Jim.

Jim raised his head, eyes bright and pulled Spock around the partition to his bed. He took Spock’s shoulders and pushed him down onto the coverlet and pressed his knee between his thighs. He held Spock’s hands above his head and brought his lips to his neck, licking and kissing the soft spot where skin met short black hair.

Spock turned his head away, eyes closed, his mouth opening slightly, swiping his tongue across dry lips. He didn’t want to do this again. He didn’t want to be driven to mindless desire. Yet, his body responded, growing erect, undulating against Jim’s hips, thrusting as though of its own accord.

Jim would stop if he asked. But he didn’t want to ask. He wanted Jim like he had wanted nothing before. Once the fire was lit, he couldn’t, wouldn’t turn it off. 

Jim knew this of course. As Spock began to respond, Jim fell into a well of emotion; that he could do this to Spock, that this incredible passion was his doing. He wanted every inch of Spock, his mind, his body, his heart. This was the only time he could truly have him. And he craved it like a drug. 

Every time they were together, it was one step closer to what Jim wanted. He didn’t want one night with Spock, he didn’t want one lifetime. He would be hard pressed to describe exactly what he wanted, he knew only that if he could consume Spock, everything that he was, it might still not be enough.

They came together that night as they always did, the final passion burning them out, leaving both hollow, locked in their own minds. Jim held Spock close, knowing his lover was turning in shame and self hate, fighting tears that he couldn’t bridge that gap, couldn’t make Spock happy despite the desire and love between them. He’d try again, another night. Jim Kirk never gave up.

 

McCoy stepped out of the isolation ward, not meeting Jim’s eyes. He gestured toward his office, clutching his PADD as though it was a lifeline. Jim followed him in, glancing back as the door closed behind him, locking on McCoy’s command.

“Sit down, Jim.”

Jim Kirk sat in the chair facing McCoy’s desk, hands clasped between his knees, feigning calm. 

“Bones, tell me. How is he? How is Spock?” Jim’s voice broke on the last word and he cleared his throat, an embarrassed smile appearing on his face.

McCoy sat down heavily in his chair, facing Jim. 

“I will regard this conversation totally confidential at this point but be aware, I will invoke Article 134, if at any time the facts warrant it. Proceedings there under will be recorded and are admissible under UCSF section 100. Is that agreeable to you?”

Jim stared at his friend in dawning horror. 

“What the hell are you talking about? What do you think happened on Lica?”

“Captain, I am not speaking of Lica, but your relationship with your First Officer, Commander Spock.”

“Bones! You can’t be serious! You know . . . ok, maybe you don’t. Spock and I are lovers. It’s true, but the laws condemning fraternization have been off the books for three hundred years!”

“You’re correct, Captain. But the laws regarding undue influence and conduct unbecoming an officer are still in force and effect.”

Jim simply didn’t understand why this attack was coming from his best friend, of all people. McCoy knew him, knew Spock. He steeled himself and pretended Bones was a stranger.

“Then, Dr. McCoy, state your evidence.” 

McCoy blinked, stomach churning. “Alright, one, Spock is showing signs of self inflicted injuries. Two, you have injuries which can only be explained as sexual. Three, Spock just now, asked that you stop. That you be stopped. Consider it done, Captain.”

Jim stood, cloaking himself in bravado. “No, Doctor, we are done. How dare you accuse me? You have nothing. You know nothing. I love Spock and he loves me. What is between us is none of your concern.”

McCoy pushed himself up on shaking legs. This was a nightmare. “It is very much my concern, Captain, as Chief Medical Officer on this ship. I have the right and the duty to investigate any threat to a crewmember. Right now, you are considered a threat to Commander Spock. You will refrain from any contact with him until I complete my investigation. Do you understand?”

Jim spun and strode to the door, looking at the lock meaningfully. 

“Are you planning to keep me here until your investigation is concluded?”

McCoy deflated. “Of course not, Jim. By the way, he is doing better physically. But the toxin is playing hell with his emotional controls.” McCoy released the door with a snap.

Jim looked relieved for a moment and then his face froze. “I will expect hourly reports, Doctor. Send them to my PADD, I won’t trouble you to report in person.” 

McCoy watched his best friend walk out of his office and Sick Bay, perhaps for the last time.

 

Two weeks ago.

Spock heard a stranger’s voice begging as blunt fingers moved inside him. Jim’s mouth kept a constant suction pushing him into a kind of insanity of lust. As his heart pounded in his side, he felt the slide upward into orgasm and screamed, voice hoarse. He came with long practice, completely unable and unwilling to stop himself from crashing like a wave into Jim’s mind. When he was finished, Jim laid his head against Spock’s open thighs, breathing in the musky scent of saliva and semen. He knew Jim relished this proof of Spock’s loss of control. The aftermath made Spock furious with Jim and himself. His lack of control was shameful and yet, as his cock continued to twitch, the remnants of his orgasm satisfied as nothing else could. 

Jim placed a kiss on Spock’s hip and padded to the fresher. Spock knew he had eight point six five minutes of privacy to gather himself. He threw an arm over his eyes and concentrated. What his body had been through was irrelevant. What his mind had experienced was not.

Spock pushed away desire. He ignored the fluids drying on his body, the ache of muscles never intended for such use, the endorphins fighting for preeminence in his mind. He couldn’t ignore the creeping satisfaction, the affection, and yes, even love, he felt for his Captain.

If he acknowledged these emotions, he could master them. He tried repeatedly to contain them and failed. Jim was a cipher, impossible to predict or control. Spock almost laughed; he was neither his match nor equal. 

Jim could hold him in thrall, sexually, for hours. Spock would almost weep, trying to find satisfaction but Jim had an almost unnatural hold on his emotions and desires. Spock had to fight, every second, to not lose control and harm Jim and Jim relished that dagger’s edge of danger he traveled, and stimulating Spock beyond what his body and mind could endure. Yet, Spock endured. 

Afterward, countless times, Spock would explain patiently, sometimes not patiently, how dangerous a game Jim was playing. Jim seemed uncaring, only interested in pulling another thread of emotion from Spock. Spock was terrified that someday he would snap.

Spock was exhausted, mentally and physically. He couldn’t imagine surviving the next few minutes with Jim, much less the next few months. All he wanted was silence, peace for his body and mind. There was no respite. Yet, part of him, the condemned part, didn’t want to relinquish Jim’s attention.

Jim returned from the fresher too soon. Spock tensed, drawing blankets over his nakedness. Jim’s eyes lit at Spock’s feeble attempts to cover himself, physically and perhaps mentally, and paid no heed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim drew the covers back, eyes traveling Spock’s body. Spock felt himself hardening, knowing Jim approved. Jim laid a warm hand on Spock’s groin, palming his testicles. Spock shuddered and tried to remain still, trying to will his tumescence down, trying to not rise to Jim’s bait. 

Jim reached for the lube on the bedside table, slicking his fingers.

“Ready for another round, Mr. Spock? I want you. Gods, I want to hear you scream again.”

Again, a stranger’s voice spoke. “Yes, Jim. Please.”

Later, when Jim was buried inside him, lips and teeth pressed against his neck, Spock did scream. It was a scream of want, of desire, of unimagined emotional pain as once again, his body and mind seized, unable to stop the waves of pleasure clawing at the corners of his mind.

After Jim came, he held Spock tenderly, kissing his temple, murmuring his love over and over. Part of Spock wanted to withdraw, flinch away from his insistent words, part of Spock opened like a bloom under the whispered sounds.

It was then, Spock realized he was insane. He was not human, he was not Vulcan. He was merely a body, an animal, cringing from and drawn to his master’s hand. His identity was disappearing into this shivering creature that lived for Jim’s touch and attention.

As soon as he could, he left, Jim’s hurt eyes following him as he escaped his cabin into the labs, consumed by guilt, using his intellect as succor. Ultimately, if he gave these repressed thoughts any attention at all, he knew Jim would try harder next time. His traitorous body responded to that thought unwillingly. The part of his soul that soaked up Jim’s love like a sponge, relished and looked forward to their next interlude. The Vulcan part of his mind and body noted the absolute disconnect and shuddered in illogical horror.

 

McCoy stared at his computer screen, puzzling over the origin of the toxin that had affected Spock. There was a familiar pattern to the peptides and proteins, which raised suspicion in McCoy’s mind. He forwarded his research to the bio-chem lab with a request for immediate analysis.

Running his hand through graying hair, he pushed away from his desk and looked blankly at the office door. He couldn’t be right. If he was, James T. Kirk was finished and Spock was not far behind him.

Spock was awake when he entered the med bay, brown eyes dull. McCoy stopped at the foot of the bed and crossed his arms defensively.

“Feeling better, Mr. Spock?”

Spock’s voice was hoarse but moved to rise. “Yes. I will recover further in my cabin.”

“Like hell.” McCoy raised his hand to stop Spock and winced when he flinched away.

Spock couldn’t even raise an eyebrow. “I believe the effect of the unknown toxin has dissipated sufficiently. I request . . .”

McCoy talked over him. “You will leave Sick Bay over my dead body. The toxin has not cleared your system, your vitals are all over the place, you are still in danger of having a seizure, not to mention, I don’t want Jim anywhere near you. And I can’t guarantee that unless you are right here under my nose.”

Spock completely ignored the medical objections and went immediately to the heart of the matter. 

“Why should the Captain avoid me?”

“Because you asked me to protect you from him.”

This time, Spock did raise an eyebrow. “Why should I make such a request?”

“Because he is harming you. Because he is forcing . . . forcing himself upon you. Jesus, Spock, don’t make me say it.”

Spock’s voice was soft. “Perhaps you should as I do not understand your accusation. Jim has done nothing to injure me.”

McCoy was getting mad. “You asked me to stop him and I have. Don’t pretend you don’t know, Spock. I have med-scans on both of you. I know what you have been doing to yourself for months now. I have your statement that you want him to stop. It is within my purvey as Chief Medical Officer to . . .”

“You know NOTHING!” Spock’s voice rose as he propped himself up on shaking arms. “Jim has not harmed me. What has happened between us is consensual. You have no right, I . . .”

“Well, Spock, then you have harmed yourself. One way or the other, you have to face this. Maybe you are angry with yourself for not saying ‘no’ to him. Maybe you are afraid of losing him, his career, your career. Regardless, you WILL stay put until I tell you otherwise.”

Spock’s face was stormy with disbelief and, yes, fear. McCoy tried to ignore his emotional outburst but couldn’t.

“Spock,” McCoy’s voice was gentle, “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to protect him. The facts speak for themselves, res ipsa loquiter. You need to face what he has done, what you have done.”

“He has done nothing. As for what I have done . . .”

Just then, McCoy heard the mechanical beep of an incoming report. He knew what it was; he knew what the results were.

As he turned to the computer station to confirm his suspicions, he felt rather than saw Spock rise to his feet. It was a brief moment before he felt a hand on his shoulder and all went black.

 

Two days ago

Spock shook, holding himself with his arms crossed protectively across his chest. It was illogical but he felt he was flying apart, coming undone, only a thread holding him together. Sometimes it hit him like this, unguarded moments when he was alone. Usually it happened in his cabin, this was the first time it had happened in the lab.

Fortunately, Spock had sent the scientists away to celebrate Kumarin, an Andorian holiday. They had been puzzled when he’d released them from duty but happy to enjoy the festivities. It was fortuitous; he needed to work on his formula.

Concentrating intently, he barely registered the sound of the lab door opening. He startled when he felt a warm hand on his neck. Looking up from the computer, he saw Jim peering over his shoulder. He quickly blanked the screen and turned to face him.

Jim smiled. There was nothing that made him happier than watching Spock work, so completely focused on a project. It was always accompanied by a light in his eye, a careful enthusiasm and joy that Spock would deny. To see Spock at his best, on his game, made Jim almost burst with pride and affection. He gave Spock’s neck a squeeze and pulled over a stool and sat down, delighted and curious about whatever had captured Spock’s attention.

“What are you cooking up, Spock?”

Spock was silent, tension holding his shoulders tightly. Jim frowned, he knew his Vulcan, knew there was something wrong.

Finally, Spock spoke, looking down at his hands. “Captain, I must speak with you about a personal matter. But this is neither the time nor the place.”

Jim’s stomach churned. “Of course, Mr. Spock. When would it be convenient for you?”

“2200h, Sir. Your cabin will suffice.”

Jim nodded, trying not to feel anxious.

“Very well, I will see you then.” Jim rose and walked to the door. Before it opened, he turned and looked back over his shoulder at Spock’s hunched figure, at work on the computer. He had a bad feeling about this but he would wait, as he always did, for Spock to come to him.

 

Spock completed his research. All that was left was to combine the elements and make the requisite chemical. That could be done later. He stood stiffly and pulled down his tunic. He ran his hand over his face and was surprised to find his skin rough with whiskers. When was the last time he had groomed himself? He couldn’t recall and this troubled him slightly. His mind bounced around from thought to thought, with no logical sequence. He felt a stab of panic quickly overcome by amusement. He smiled briefly, but quickly schooled his face. He would return to his cabin and clean himself; it wouldn’t do to be untidy. Then he would see Jim. Fear and joy flew at him simultaneously. There was no reason; it all would be resolved soon. Spock actually sighed with relief. 

When Spock arrived at Jim’s cabin, precisely at 2200h, he was far more settled. He’d spent over an hour cleaning every inch of skin, repeatedly. As a result, his skin glowed green where it was thin and tender and he smelled of harsh soap. He would begin this clean; he would end it clean, if he had to strip the skin from his body.

Jim answered the door, unsmiling but eyes warm. He said nothing but gestured for Spock to enter and sit at his table that doubled as a desk. He was not surprised when Spock refused, continuing to stand in the middle of the room, at parade rest.

Jim sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “Alright, Spock, shoot.”

The hoped for bait had no effect. Spock stood still, eyes on the floor. Finally, he lifted them to Jim’s face. He almost backed out at that point. Jim’s expression was open, full of affection. Part of him wanted to see that look; part felt pressure building, to be more than he was capable of being.

“Captain. Jim. I must inform you that our personal relationship can no longer continue. It has become . . . difficult to maintain my emotional controls. If I can not master my emotions day to day, I will become a danger to you, the crew, and unreliable in the performance of my duty.”

“Spock. Spock. We’ve been through this before. You don’t have to be anything other than who you are with me. I accept you no matter what.”

Spock showed a flash of irritation he didn’t bother to hide. “You deliberately miss understand me. The existence of our relationship is weakening my mental shields. It can not continue without dire consequences.”

Jim pushed off from the desk and stood directly in front of Spock, hesitantly placing his hands on his biceps. Spock allowed the touch though his eyes clouded.

“Please, Jim. It is too difficult. I am losing myself.”

“Spock, I love you. We don’t have to be lovers, but let me be with you, help you. Please don’t shut me out.”

Spock stepped back out of Jim’s grip. “I must. You demand such emotion from me, even before we became lovers, it was intolerable. I am a Vulcan. I have chosen to be this.”

“And nothing more? You would live your life within the narrow confines of a society and culture that has turned it’s back on you, that you left to find out who you are? You are more than the sum total of Vulcan and Earth. We can do this. We can do this together.”

Spock turned away then, pressing trembling hands against the wall. Everything Jim said was true, to a point. He was both more and less than the two worlds and the biology they inflicted upon him. He laid his forehead against the wall, shaking with the effort to maintain his control.

Jim stepped up behind him and turned him gently, bringing his arms around him, holding him tightly. Spock made a quiet noise and pressed his face against Jim’s shoulder. After a few moments, Jim led him to his bed, undressed him and lay down beside him. Spock burrowed into his neck and Jim winced at the pain coming off of him in waves. 

He would let Spock go if he thought for a second it would help. It wouldn’t. He knew Spock had to face the chasm between his two natures. It might arise in another way, if Jim stepped out of the equation. Spock would be utterly lost then.

Jim considered that his First Officer, his friend, his lover, was becoming increasingly unbalanced. He could feel them rushing toward a precipice that he feared would destroy them. He didn’t want to lose Spock but he had to get some help. They had a fairly simple diplomatic mission scheduled on Lica in two days. If they could get through that, Jim would sit down with Bones. Between the two of them, they would figure something out.

 

Just prior to beaming down to Lica, Spock had finished his self-assigned project. The drug was complete, fast acting, lethal. He stepped into the fresher and began to clean himself again, thoroughly. Every inch was scrupulously scrubbed, he had cleaned his mouth to the point it bled, he had laved his internal organs, the enema repulsing him yet ridding him of any evidence of Jim, even if he hadn’t touched him in weeks. 

And now, he never would again. Jim would be free of him, his weakness, and his innate ability to hurt him by his emotional distance. Jim was better off without him as were his parents. He had been a constant disappointment to them. It was a pity they had wasted so much time and credits on a creature that shouldn’t have lived anyway. And the crew. The crew didn’t realize what a danger he was becoming but if they did, they’d be relieved he was gone.

He had two hours before beam down. He planned to take the drug now; it would mimic a natural toxin. He would appear to have died accidentally. He couldn’t bear the thought that Jim would blame himself. This was the best way. Jim would mourn briefly and then move on. Spock’s tortured katra would not survive, but he couldn’t imagine anyone would care.

He swallowed the capsule dry and felt a moment of regret. For some reason, he remembered his pet sehlat I’Chaya. His control was tenuous at best and almost broke when he remember how he had grieved for his pet. He tried not to think about how Jim might grieve as well. 

It was done. He drew the shattered walls he hid behind together; it would be over quite soon.

 

 

The first inkling Jim had that there was something amiss was the alarm from the Shuttle Bay. 

“Keptin, someone is activating shuttle warm up sequence.”

Jim leaned forward in his chair, frowning. “Find out who it is, Chekov.”

“Aye, Keptin . . . it is Mr. Spock, Sir.”

Jim froze, fear crawling up his spine. “Hold the bay doors. Security to the Shuttle Bay but don’t enter until I get there. Have McCoy meet me.”

The Bridge crew stared at their consoles until Jim left. When the turbo lift doors closed, Sulu and Chekov turned as one to Uhura, who covered her mouth with her hand, worry coloring her face. She shook her head silently and pointedly went back to her work. Chekov and Sulu shared a glance and quietly found something to occupy them. Everyone waited for the next shoe to drop.

It was no secret that their First Officer had been showing signs of stress over the last few months. He was notoriously moody, even by human standards, so initially, no one thought much of it. There had been stories from the science staff of Spock being more reclusive and short tempered than usual. And no one could ignore the palpable tension between the Captain and First Officer.

There had been talk, of course. They had always spent much of their free time together but much had turned to virtually all. Most of the crew was convinced they were lovers. The rest assumed it was unrequited love. No one objected. The command team was well respected. When things seemed to be coming apart, the Captain sitting alone in the mess, tense silence between the two of them on the Bridge, everyone worried and speculated quietly hoping for the best.

 

McCoy arrived in the Shuttle Bay within seconds of Jim, rubbing his neck and swearing. Jim frowned at him.

“Vulcan nerve pinch, the bastard.”

“Bones, what the hell is going on?”

“Jim, that toxin? He manufactured it. He probably thought it would kill him. If he’d been a full Vulcan, it would have.”

“He tried to kill himself? No! He wouldn’t do that!”

“Evidence suggests otherwise, I’m sorry Jim.”

Jim turned to the locked mechanism and over rode it quickly. Spock hadn’t intended to permanently lock anyone out. He gestured to Security to stand by and he and McCoy strode into the Bay. The first thing they noticed was Spock, standing by the open hatch of the Copernicus. He looked lost.

Spock didn’t seem to notice them. He stared at the hatch as though gathering his strength. McCoy raised his tricorder and began to scan Spock. He wasn’t at his best physically, but he was apparently functional.

Jim was afraid to touch him so he stood directly in front of him, trying to draw his gaze. Finally, Spock met his eyes.

“I must go, Captain. For the good of the ship, in your best interest.”

“Spock. Not like this. You can’t.”

Spock turned to McCoy as if Jim wasn’t there. “Dr. McCoy, you must promise me you will not take any action against the Captain. None of this is his doing. Everything that has happened occurred by my volition. I have left a statement to that effect in my cabin. I regret my actions on Lica, I can only say I was attempting to protect the Captain and crew from what I perceived was my increasing lack of control. It was cowardly. It will not happen again.”

Jim broke in. “But you are willing to steal a shuttle and go? Go where? What are you thinking?”

Spock turned and looked at Jim. “I am sorry, Jim. I have to leave. I would take the shuttle to Star Base 12, leaving it with the authorities, and continue to Vulcan. I assumed if you knew the facts, you would authorize it.”

“Okay, assume I allow this. Why Vulcan? What do you think you can accomplish there that you can’t here? Spock! I want to help you. We want to help you. Vulcan can’t be the answer.”

“There is a discipline among Vulcan masters that will purge my emotions and allow me to regain control.”

“The Kolinhar? You can’t be serious! You would lock up half of your soul? For what?”

“To survive, Jim. If I stay here, there is a high probability I will either go mad or attempt to take my life again. Would you prefer I die?”

Jim grabbed Spock’s wrists, McCoy all but forgotten. “No, I want you to live. To be happy. With me, for the rest of our lives. I don’t believe I can survive without you.”

There was such incredible sadness in Spock’s eyes, McCoy had to look away, fighting tears. 

“Jim, I do not believe I can survive with you. It is no failing of yours, it is mine alone. I cannot process how I love you. I cannot bear hurting you by withholding myself, and this is what I would have to do, if I could do anything at all. I am at fault. I am flawed. You deserve so much more.”

Jim was screaming in his head. He had faced down murderous aliens, fought to the death, offered his own life to protect his crew and this being in front of him. For what? Spock wasn’t the failure, he was. He had blithely destroyed the one being who made all his sacrifices worthwhile.

Spock must have sensed his turmoil. He placed a warm hand on Jim’s cheek and for a few seconds, all the love he’d locked up inside him was evident in his eyes. It was a good bye.

After a moment, Spock stepped back, tearing his eyes away from Jim, he nodded to McCoy. “Thank you, Doctor. Please take care of him.” Spock turned and climbed into the Copernicus, closing the hatch behind him.

If anyone questioned Jim allowing Spock to leave the Enterprise under those conditions, no one said a word. McCoy never brought proceedings under Article 134. Spock’s recorded statement exonerated Jim completely and it served no purpose to make it public. Spock’s statement was accompanied, of course, by the resignation of his commission. He wouldn’t know for several years that the resignation had been turned into a leave of absence. He would be surprised later how easily he could be reinstated. But then, Jim Kirk never gave up. He’d always known that.

 

Please read and review. I didn’t write this to provoke. The opinions expressed are mine alone.


End file.
